


the kings

by kaeius



Category: TREASURE (Korea Band)
Genre: Brief mentions of TREASURE - Freeform, M/M, goong!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeius/pseuds/kaeius
Summary: The ascension of crown prince Park Jihoon is well-remembered, but this is not that story.
Relationships: Choi Hyunsuk/Park Jihoon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	the kings

**Author's Note:**

> lightly inspired by goong and that one goong-inspired fic from another fandom

Of all the subjects he had ever taken for his photography, Jihoon adored flowers the most. The vibrancy of their colours, the symmetry of each petal, the way each bloom held a special and unique meaning; anyone could appreciate that. But for Jihoon, the ones that he loved were the flowers which grew in surprising places. When asked, he would explain that he was drawn to the tenacity of their struggle to flourish despite their circumstance. In reality, he longed to be like them - growing unseen and unheard - but that was not his birthright, and it was a fact that he was constantly reminded of every day.

The palace, to give him an illusion of relatability, had decided it would be good for him to attend a local university instead of a college overseas, much to his dismay. They had offered it like a choice, but Jihoon knew better. He was just grateful that his chosen field of interest as the crown prince was arts and culture, allowing him to have Photography as his major. Initially, Jihoon was overjoyed at the prospect of freedom, of time spent outside the castle walls. Yet, with the way the crowd parted for him as he walked down the hall, he had quickly become resigned to the fact that his previous hopes of going unnoticed on campus were all but the naive wish of a young boy who did not yet understand the weight of responsibility.

The only ones who dared to approach him were sons of ministers whom he had become acquainted with at prior functions. Even then, the company of Junkyu, Yedam and Doyoung only served to draw even more focus to him. The other three did not seem to mind the attention; they immensely enjoyed the privilege of always having a spot on the campus green or to have their seats reserved in classes. Jihoon was quick to realise that these differences would serve as permanent fissures dividing even them.

Even with all the scrutiny, Jihoon still tried to maximise his time in the university. He would spend twice as long in front of the chemical baths of the school’s darkroom compared to his coursemates, working without haste and pointedly ignorant to the passing of time. Only when the security guard would knock on the door during his evening rounds to chase stragglers out of the campus would he then reluctantly pack up his bag to leave. Today was no different, as the loud rapping of the elderly guard’s knuckles on the door drew Jihoon out of his reverie. He shook off the last drops of water dripping off the edge of his latest roll, before hanging them on the string behind him. Every day, as he walked out to where the car was waiting for him, he would hear the lilting notes of a piano from some desolate classroom and he would wonder just who on earth was as lonely as he was.

***

Jihoon adjusted the fit of his black cotton shirt in the full length mirror tucked into the corner of his room, his face a mask reflected back to him. Dinners were always an occasion in the presence of the King, the Queen and the Queen Dowager. When he was much younger, Jihoon struggled to understand the movies which showed the warm comfort of families getting ready and having dinner together. Now, he had gotten use to the idea of the age-old traditions that every dinner would have. 

Just like how he had gotten used to being called _jeoha_ instead of _son_ or _Jihoon_. 

A knock from the door drew his attention, followed shortly by the muffled voice of Jihoon’s Head of Security: “Dinner is in 5 minutes, _seja_.” 

“Thank you, Taehyun. I will be out shortly.” Jihoon replied, pushing his dark brown bangs out of his eyes. He allowed himself to take a deep breath to steady himself before shrugging on his grey blazer, making his way to the dining hall.

***

They ate in relative silence, the room pierced only by the sound of their cutlery against the porcelain. Everything about the hall screamed tradition - from the way the renovated wooden pillars were purposefully aged to the pattern on the lacquer bowls that they ate from. Their conversation over the meal was sparse, as topics of importance were spoken of over formal meetings and frivolous subjects such as their own personal thoughts were never raised. So when the Queen Dowager called for his attention from the left of the table, Jihoon all but jumped in surprise at the unwelcome disruption from his thoughts. 

“We think it would be best if you were to be married soon.” She said casually, as if speaking about the weather. Her gaze was cast on her bowl as she used her chopsticks to pick at one of the many dishes that had been spread lavishly before her. 

Jihoon whipped his head to look at her, the speed of which sending a sharp sting down his neck. When he had finally clawed back enough of his composure to speak, his voice came out strained: “Apologies, Queen Dowager, but I must have misheard you. Marriage?” 

“Yes.” This time the King spoke, setting his cutlery on the table. Jihoon stared at him, eyes wide in abject horror. 

“I am sure you are aware of the results of the recent survey performed on the general population.” The King’s voice comes in tinny and far away. Jihoon wants nothing more than to look away but their respective seats at the head of the long table allowed him little escape. Although it was not a question, he nodded stiffly in response.

“After speaking to the advisors, we believe that a wedding with festivities will encourage the citizens to put us in their good graces once more.” 

Jihoon’s mind switched on all at once, his breath hitching. The first thought he had was that of a black duffel bag, stuffed into the recesses of his closet from when he was much younger and filled with silly hopes of running away from the palace. This was swiftly followed by recollections of how his first and only attempt had ended with him standing, bag in hand, in front of the doors of his room and paralysed by the futility of his attempt. He wondered if he could refuse this - after all, they could not force him into a suit and wrestle him down the aisle in front of the millions of people who would inevitably watch the event. The Queen must have read his mind, because she spoke next. Although not born into the royal family, she still exuded aristocracy and grace. 

“We have also decided that after you finish your final year of university, it would be wise for you to go to the United Kingdom to further your studies in any subject of your choosing for a postgraduate degree. I had benefited from my time overseas, and it is our hope that you will gain just as much, if not more.” She said gently, her gaze soft as she spoke to Jihoon. As he looked at her, he wondered if this was a way for the advisors to placate him or the loving gesture of a mother who was denied any other expression of affection for her son. Either ways, he was more than willing to jump at the opportunity of leaving the country even if it meant playing their little game of politics for just one year longer. There was no escaping his fate for now, anyway.

“Is there someone in mind?”

The Queen Dowager nods - in approval or affirmation, he cannot tell. 

“The Old King owed a debt to his close advisor, one which we look to fulfil with this union.” She replied, lifting her chopsticks. “He is not of noble blood, so it will look favourably in the eyes of the people.” 

Jihoon said nothing else, taking her cue to resume his own dinner. He spent the rest of the time picking at the rice, thoughts wandering and looping over each other. The same conclusion was reached every time he started a new line of thinking -- that there was no escaping his role in the palace, even if all it was was to be a figurehead for the country.

***

Upon retiring to his room from dinner, Jihoon glanced at the wooden table where palace circulars were to be placed there while he was away. The yellow file, embossed with the royal sigil, typically contained reports from around the country that varied from economics to crime statistics. As part of his duty, he would have readings every night to stay up to date with what was happening in the country. 

Tonight, there were two such files.

 _They knew I wouldn’t be able to decline._ Jihoon thought to himself, a wan and defeated smile dawning on his face. He glanced at the lone door adjacent to the main entrance to his bedroom, where his future consort would take up residence, and a seed of dread rooted itself in his heart. With a shake of his head as if to dismiss the thought, he drew back the heavy oak chair, taking a seat.

Opening the second file, he saw details of his betrothed. In a photograph paperclipped to the front page, he brushed his thumb across the unfamiliar face which stared blankly ahead. The papers contained details that spanned from where he lived to all his achievements, from the moment he was born until his scholarship acceptance into the university. It was all so formal and scripted. Jihoon did not know why he expected anything else.

“We go to the same school.” Jihoon mused aloud as he read on, surprise growing. Despite being in the same year of study and despite the Photography and Music buildings being right next to each other, he had never seen this man. He looked back to the top of the page, having had glossed over the name. 

_Choi Hyunsuk._

***

While the royal engagement had changed precious little about Jihoon’s routine, the palace and country were in a flurry of excitement. Much to the joy of the advisors, their attempt to gain the public’s favour had worked. The people were obsessed with every detail of the wedding, and the palace’s Public Relations department had to field questions that ranged from the chosen designer who would outfit the royal family to the number of courses that would be at the banquet. One question that echoed on everyone’s mind, however, was who the crown prince’s consort would be, as tradition dictated that they would only be revealed on the day of the wedding. Steeped in mystery, it only served to heightened everyone’s interest.

“An engagement? Really?” Yedam said the moment Jihoon sat down next to him in the lecture hall. The room was abuzz with chatter as the students waited for their professor to arrive, masking the conversation the group was having in the furthest corner of the room. Jihoon merely hummed his assent, to which Doyoung laughed gleefully, smacking Junkyu on the arm.

“He didn’t believe the rumours.” He explained with a cheeky grin. Junkyu grumbled unhappily, rooting around in his bag for change which he smacked into Doyoung’s open hand.

Just then, a rap on the board in front drew everyone’s attention as a signal that class would begin and the conversation died swiftly. Jihoon placed his head in his hand, gazing out the window listlessly to stare at the open expanse of the campus green. He did not appreciate the unpleasant reminder so early in the morning, letting the lecturer’s voice drone monotonously in the background as he allowed his mind to wander. 

He watched as the lawn emptied out as students headed to class, entertaining himself with daydreams of what the thoughts of normal people must be like. He traces a lone figure cutting its way through the grass, clutching a set of books tight to his chest as he walked, unhurried, to his destination. His white collared shirt was untucked despite how early it was in the day, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal arms stained with ink. Walking slow, Jihoon watched the person roll back his shoulders lazily and Jihoon felt a pang of envy in the casual way the unknown man acted, as if the whole world was his and there was no one on earth who could judge him. The person shook his blonde hair out of his eyes and, in that moment, locked eyes with Jihoon. Jihoon jerked back, blinking rapidly, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment at having been caught staring. His eyes widen in tandem with the boy, who had suddenly stopped walking. Averting his gaze quickly, he stared at the front in a pointed show of listening. Only when the blonde disappeared from his peripheral vision does Jihoon let go of the breath he was not aware he was holding. 

“Something the matter?” Yedam whispered, having heard the loud exhalation.

Jihoon shook his head in dismissal, unsure how to explain that he had just seen the man he was to marry.

***

“Everything is almost ready, _seja_.” The main wedding planner said hurriedly, while desperately trying not to catch her heels on the trousers of her pantsuit. She scurried after him, her folder open to the report of wedding preparations. 

Jihoon walked quickly down the hallway of the palace with his film camera in hand, unbothered by her plight as she flipped through the papers quickly. He let her drone on about the colour palette of the wedding and the flower choices and the food options, knowing clearly that everything had already been predetermined and her asking for his opinion was only a formality. The thought of this drew his ire, bubbling hot and bright inside his chest. He stopped abruptly at the entrance to the palace gardens, so suddenly that the wedding planner narrowly avoided walking into his back. 

“Everything is fine,” Jihoon said curtly. “You are dismissed.” 

Without turning around to look back, he walked into the garden, relieved to finally be alone. He moved past the large wisteria tree that was coming into bloom and ignored the fair orchids that were at the peak of their beauty. Instead, he cast his eyes to the ground and upon spotting his target, he knelt and brought his camera into position.

“Hello.” An unfamilar voice said from behind him. Jihoon froze in place, the viewfinder on his camera trained on a white flower that had wormed its way uncharacteristically through the palace walls and had somehow avoided detection from the groundskeeper.

“Ah, I’m so sorry. I mean: Hello, _seja_.” 

Jihoon frowned, lowering his camera before he stood and turned to look at the intruder. He took in the sight of the disheveled man before him, taking in the messy blonde hair that hung low over his eyes and the unkempt white shirt. Jihoon glanced over at his ink-marked arms that had seemed to be mistaken to be paper, because there was _hangul_ written all over them. Jihoon must have stared for too long, because the hands suddenly disappeared from view, swinging to the back. 

“I’m Hyunsuk. Your.. you know.” He trailed off, growing quiet. “I’ve been meaning to meet you but the studies they’re having me do on the country’s culture and traditions keep me pretty busy.. Not to say it hasn’t been interesting there is just so mu-”

“We are not supposed to see each other.” Jihoon interrupted, his eyes drawn back to Hyunsuk’s face. 

“I know, I know.” Hyunsuk laughed weakly, running a hand through his hair as he flushed. “I just thought that it’d be nice to get to know one another first, you know?”

Jihoon paused, regarding the man that stood before him. From the slight drawl to the way he moved his hands all over the place when he spoke, Hyunsuk was blatantly not of the palace. He was too frivolous, too casual and all too unbroken to understand that the rules within the ancient white and grey stone walls were not a suggestion.

“I’m not sure what you think this is,” The crown prince said, staring at Hyunsuk square in the eyes. “But this is a purely political affair. If you want some companionship or comfort, I am not the one you should be going to.” 

In front of him, Hyunsuk appeared to be frozen in time. He reanimated after a heartbeat, blinking furiously. “Wow,” He breathed, his voice tinged with something sharp. “You are an _asshole_.” 

Jihoon frowned, tilting his head in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Oh sorry.” Hyunsuk laughed, bitter. “You are an asshole, _seja._ ” He mock bowed before turning and storming off, disappearing before Jihoon had a chance to recollect himself and chastise Hyunsuk for even thinking of insulting him, insulting South Korea’s crown prince. 

He sighed deeply, before returning to the flower. It was best he was upfront now then let Hyunsuk create false expectations. Steeling himself and pushing all thoughts of his upcoming marriage aside, he hunkered down and squinted into his camera’s viewfinder.

All he had to do was survive the year.


End file.
